Imagine a city where the ultimate sin isn’t murder, theft, or deceit—it’s being broke. Welcome to Mahagonny, a dystopian mirage in the desert, spun by con artists to fleece unsuspecting tourists. Sounds familiar? But here’s where it gets controversial: in Jamie Manton’s bold new production of Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht’s The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahagonny, the real crime isn’t just the lack of cash—it’s how eerily relevant this 1930s opera feels today. And this is the part most people miss: Manton doesn’t spoon-feed us modern parallels to Trump or Vance; instead, he holds a mirror up to us, the audience, leaving us squirming in recognition.
Despite its shoestring budget—a predicament English National Opera (ENO) knows all too well—this production feels anything but cheap. In fact, it’s a masterclass in turning thriftiness into triumph. The Coliseum stage is stripped bare, Brechtian-style, inviting the audience to feel almost immersed in the chaos. Milla Clarke’s set, dominated by a massive container, cleverly repurposes elements from past ENO productions, while the costumes look like they’ve been salvaged from a thrift store—a perfect match for the opera’s trashy, anything-goes aesthetic.
But let’s be honest: this opera is uneven. Just like the city it portrays, it’s a rollercoaster of exploitation, greed, and moments that drag. Yet, Manton’s staging keeps you hooked with sparky, unexpected touches. A human megaphone, dressed like an otherworldly cat in a post-surgery cone, announces each scene. A tap-dancing hurricane—yes, you read that right—threatens the townspeople with aggressive fancy footwork. And then there’s Lizzi Gee’s choreography, which turns treadmills into a metaphor for the characters’ relentless march toward Mahagonny’s false promises.
The cast shines, too. Danielle de Niese delivers a star-studded rendition of the Alabama Song—a tune you might recognize from David Bowie or The Doors—as Jenny, the tart with a heart colder than you’d expect. Simon O’Neill channels Wagnerian grandeur as Jimmy MacIntyre, while Elgan Llŷr Thomas sings with elegant despair as Jack, a man eating himself to death. Rosie Aldridge’s Widow Begbick is a force of nature, cutting whisky with liquid siphoned from a urinal tank. Jeremy Sams’ English translation is, as always, razor-sharp.
André de Ridder, in his debut as ENO’s music director designate, keeps the orchestra pulsating with energy. But the real stars? The chorus. Onstage for most of the show, they tackle Weill’s complex ensemble writing with a conviction that’s rare in opera houses worldwide. Here’s the controversial part: these chorus members, who carry the show on their backs, deserve far greater job security than they currently have. Why aren’t we talking about this more?
As the curtain falls, you’re left with a question that lingers long after the applause: Is Mahagonny a relic of the past, or a warning for our present? What do you think? Let’s debate it in the comments—because if there’s one thing this production proves, it’s that opera isn’t just about beautiful music; it’s about holding a mirror up to society and asking the tough questions.
